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in an arranged marriage the reader doesn’t expect much, being painfully oblivious to the strong feelings their husband to be has for them
cw: yearning arranged marriage suggestive content not proof read
a/n: based on this lovely request<3
baelor targaryen
even though he decided long ago you are the woman he wants, you never see any certain emotions behind his mismatched eyes, mistaking his propriety and restraint for lack of personal investment. baelor doesn’t want to frighten or pressure you, knowing how earthshattering it must be to be married to a man you barely know, so he gives you space, lets you breathe and explore everything at your own pace, which for you looks like a mere formality. the dutiful prince fulfilling his duty without any personal interest. baelor personally makes sure you are comfortable, protected, and feel safe in your new home, though you are sure that is a standard royal provision. even during his free time, his attention keeps returning to you, as he finds any reason to see you, speak with you, or ask your opinion on something 'important', never daring to cross a line or take advantage of your vulnerable position, not even by letting himself say a flirty comment, sure that not pushing his affection onto you is for the best. baelor invites you for walks, trying to get to know you better in a way that won't feel crowding, though barely showing any emotions. he even asks whether you are truly content with this arrangement or if it's something you plan to endure, and he asks it so seriously that you start thinking he himself wants out of it. this makes you want to reassure him that you will be a loyal and undemanding wife and understand that even though it will be a loveless marriage, you won't cause him trouble. baelor is so taken aback by your words and the casualness of your tone that he stops walking altogether, staring at you with stunned "i have no concerns regarding... that, my lady"
maekar targaryen
he is also oblivious to the fact that he has feelings for you, yet the truth of it bleeds into every moment of his day, even when he brushes it off internally as mere 'concern'. maekar becomes more stern with servants, inspects his future wife's chambers himself, personally assigns guards, barking orders about how everything is not 'suitable' for a noble lady, ensuring every part of your new life, even the flowers that maids have to bring in every morning, is of the best quality. you view him as controlling and impossible to please, not realising he is just desperate to please you. maekar wants to create a comfortable life for you, expressing his feelings through acts of service, yet acts so sternly while doing all that, no one suspects a thing. he questions you relentlessly. where do you want to live, what do you need, and which members of your household do you want to keep, though his tone makes it feel like an interrogation rather than care. maekar fights his demons daily, not allowing himself such weakness as getting smitten by his bride, even though he knows he was the one to insist on this particular match, lying to himself, claiming it's just politics. he becomes visibly irritated whenever you speak, as though you two will lead largely separate lives, because you are convinced the prince practically can't stand you. with time, maekar learns how to express his feelings properly because the possibility of you looking at him with disgust, distrust, or worse, detachment is much scarier. it reaches a point where he is forced to confess how completely infatuated he is by you right to your face to finally break free from the gnawing doubts and torturing uncertainty of his own mind. he says it so spontaneously, you don't believe your ears at first, carefully studying his hesitant expression and violet eyes full of longing
valarr targaryen
will try to properly but softly prove to you his feelings. naturally, you brush it off as mere politeness. valarr gives you every conventional sign of romance, but because he is so charming, courteous, and princely, you assume none of it is unique to you. at first, he doesn't even realize you are convinced that his affection is a generic set of good manners and natural charm. you tell everyone that valarr "could make any woman happy" because you truly believe that all he does is fulfill his duty by playing the role of a good husband to be, completely unaware of the pure love that fills his chest with every glance at your smile. your coldness at his romantic gestures he interprets as rejections, trying to bear the thought of you not feeling the same towards him, suspecting that maybe someone more lucky already owns your heart, determined to ease your pain as your husband as much as he can, knowing how tiresome and torturing it may feel to love one sidedly. valarr doesn't want to burden you with his feelings, creating polite distance when he doesn't see the same look in your eyes, and he is ready to carry all this in his heart in secret forever, but when you say that "he might eventually love somebody else" and that you understand them, all the strength leave shis body and he kneels in front of you, hands hovering near yours, not even daring to touch saying that what you imply is completely impossible since his heart belongs to you solely for longer than it is proper. watching your surprised expression, valarr apologises immediately for forcing you into such an uncomfortable situation of dealing with the matters of his heart that you clearly have no interest in and how selfish of him it was to corner you with all that, but you shush him with a soft, trembling smile and a quiet "i never knew, my prince"
daeron targaryen
he believes it’s for the best for you to think there is nothing more than politics involved. daeron makes jokes about your marriage, discussing with you the absurdity of it, the dread of duty, taking the role of a companion in misfortune rather than a suitor. every sarcastic comment from him, for you, is a confirmation that neither of you takes this marriage seriously. he drops off words of postponing the wedding, inventing different reasons to keep it as it is now, innocent, and you think that’s because he thinks your marriage will rob him off the frivolous lifestyle he has now, but in reality he just tries to avoid the inevitable wedding night, knowing that after that hiding his feelings would become absolutely unbearable. you don’t even suspect a think, sure that there is nothing more than casual friendship between you too and daeron does big work for you to keep believing that, even inventing some lady he is supposedly in love with, just to distract you from noticing the way his gaze seem to be always glued to you. he is a mess, a wreck, an awful, undutiful, lazy husband and he knows that, also knowing that you deserve someone hundred times better than him. daeron hates and loves the fact that you don’t know how much you mean to him, doing scandalous things in order to cancel the betrothal all together, not letting himself “taint” you with his reputation and lifestyle but the greed… the yearning and the fear of losing you from his sight all forever forces him to constantly be close, accompanying you to walks in the gardens, sitting near you at feasts and gossiping with you in the halls secretly hoping for you to understand everything from his eyes. his hungry desperate eyes
aerion targaryen
there is just no way you don’t know. aerion makes sure his every gesture, every words, every glance radiates ownership, possessiveness and ungodly desire for you. constantly tells you how precious, beautiful and uniquely his you are, not letting even a single thought of doubt to trouble your pretty head. aerion will tell you how good you make him feel and how lucky you are he chose you, referring to you as his dragon mate, his jewel, and in rare tender moments of weakness - his love. since day one of the courtship you are suffocated by the amount of theatrical affection he pours onto you, barely letting you leave his sight. even though it is still a moon before your wedding, aerion’s touch is far from innocent, cornering you in the gardens, in the dark halls and hidden passages to cover your sweet neck with hickeys and murmur all the things he plans to do with you once you are officially his before the gods. he asks you to let him into your chambers every night, savouring the secrecy and pure lust of the moment, making out with you until your lips bruise. aerion is openly affectionate with you and even gentle, though every sweet word, tender kiss and expensive gift is laced with a perverse, monstrous obsession that borders on madness. aerion is always by your side, practically convinced you are already married, only teasing you and himself with the knowledge he will take you in properly soon enough. since the first moment you saw him, you knew, solely from his terrible gaze on your skin - you are his till the end of times
ser duncan the tall
he practically loses the ability to talk alltogether, when you are near, turning into a big red mute mess, which leads you to conclude the match makes him very uncomfortable. dunk won’t touch you even if it costs him his life, because he knows he just wouldn’t be able to stop if he once lets himself loose, avoiding any physical contact with you very thoroughly, while dreaming about the very same thing night and day. you think he isn’t attracted to you, especially convinced in that because of the way he speaks to you, in harsh and short sentences, barely looking you in the eyes. dunk is sure you see how absolutely smitten he is and what a pathetic mess he becomes because if your gaze and gets even more embarrassed when you carefully probe whether he is disgusted by you, thinking you mock him cruelly with such questions, because to him it’s so painfully obvious he is in love with you. when you see him laughing and relaxed with other people, it only strengthens your belief that he prefers any other company except yours, treating the practical, sweet and deeply tender things he silently does for you as a part of how kind he is towards everyone. when you assure him you won’t demand of him more than duty requires and that you can be only friends, he becomes so miserable, he can’t even force out a word which you interpret as relief. egg is driven crazy by how stupid you both are, ready to run to you and tell what ser duncan truly feels if only he didn’t swear to dunk he would keep his secret silent. so all he can do is drop hints that go completely unnoticed. eventually, you offer dunk a way out of this arrangement “without blame” and he is so horrified by the possibility of losing you, fear makes him very articulate for a few minutes in which he pours all the love and affection he has been feeling for you all this time. dunk rambles so much you have to shut him up with a kiss
a/n: i realised that to write it out properly, i need many more words, so maybe i will expand some characters and do a separate work for some if you would like that, but idk!! please lmk if you have any thoughts <33
| summary: The moment the third arrow struck Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's throat, his life ended. And yet, a second later, the Prince awakens, confused, in his bedroom, as alive as he'd always been, with his only company being the ultimate love of his life: his wife, you. The issue? You died months ago.
burning rage: @lilyloveswriting
| summary: Jacaerys returns home from the battle, but he's not the same, and he wants the greens to burn.
How deep is your love? Is it like the ocean? What devotion are you?: @feral4youu
| summary: Your husband is adamant about the two of you flying to the Gullet, insisting the battle will be over before either of you has the chance to worry. You can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, but Jace promises everything will be fine.
His Dear Princess: @hauntedfictionland
| summary: Jacaerys did not want you, or the vow he was bound to for life. Yet when he makes a big mistake, and potentially loses you for good. He realises just how much you meant to him.
I will crawl home to you: @julez-5
| summary: Not even the Gods could tear Jace from your hands before they were ready for you as well.
Seething, blooming: @chloe-petrichors
| summary: your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.
Drunk and Seeing Stars: @fluttervoid
| summary: you've had a little too much to drink, and somehow that leads you to make yourself perfectly comfortable on jace's lap for the rest of the night.
Silly Thoughts: @jxerv
| summary: Your husband didn't greet you that morning, it made you really upset.
Go to sleep: @sacrificiallane
| summary: babbling to your husband when he's trying to sleep
Meddle About: @devourride
| summary: being friends with jacaerys meant that there will be endless talks about legitimacy, honor, and the who shall sit on the iron throne as a rightful heir. you were used to it, as you have seen witnessed jacaerys turn from a sweet summer child to someone uptight and tensed in all places- but what happens in a night when he's alone and had too much wine that he lost count?
Does it Hurt?: @rottenbites
| summary: vermax wasn't too kind to jace on his recent ride, leaving his betrothed to remedy the stoic prince
VII Minutes: @rose3heartzzz
| summary: after you die, your brain lives on for seven minutes, replaying its best memories. it is his greatest retribution and salvation to remember you.
Pretty Things: @jacefiles
| summary: He fell from the sky. She rose from the deep. When an unlikely savior pulls a prince back from death's door, neither of them can quite stay away from the shore that brought them together.
Shark Smile: @eldrith
| summary: “i was told sirens drag mean to their deaths.” “we do.”
The sea shall not have me, for I am already yours: @targlocket
| summary: He promised. To you, to himself, right before giving the order. "I will come back to you," Jacaerys whispered, pressing warm lips to wood, as if sealing his silent vow through the door.
The Lost Prince: @mariposium
| summary: while combing the beach for treasures, you stumble upon the unconscious, grievously injured body of a soldier. you decide to help him, but in doing so find love in a that may never be able to return it.
Romeo and Juliet: @finnsbarbie
| summary: jacaerys believes that the only way he can prove himself to his mother is by helping team black win the battle of the gullet. impulsively he makes the decision leaving the love of his life behind in the loving world. but you have other plans.
𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 .ᐟ — hi my loves! i haven’t done a fanfic recommendation in a long time, so i thought why not make one for our beloved jacaerys velaryon 🙈 i hope you find joy, comfort, or even some inspiration to write from reading these amazing fics! don’t forget to show these writers some love <33 also! keep a look out for a cregan stark fic rec 👀 heheh
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
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With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
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sworn shield! Gwayne Hightower x Rhaenyra's sister! Reader
ABOUT.
You’d scoffed at cheesy novels of princesses and their knights falling in love, disregarding it as pure entertainment but nothing could’ve prepared you for experiencing it yourself when Ser Gwayne Hightower swears his life to be your sworn shield.
Now, the night before you’re married off to another, you can’t help but ask him for one last time…
WARNINGS. 17+, no smut but fade to black + intimate kissing scenes. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets minor cuts on his neck and face)
TAGS. (spoilers for the fic below)
hurt/no comfort!! definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, minor miscommunication that doesnt get explained much but its for the plot, reader is scared of lighting storms, reader is referred to have a dragon, for this fic—his room is connected to yours so he can protect you (just go with it😭), hugging and cuddling, reader has an arranged marriage that’s not to gwayne, reader moving away from kings landing cause of the marriage, emotional make out sesh with tears basically lmk if i missed something!
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
CHAPTER ONE
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
CHAPTER TWO
coming soon. . .
P.S. first fic on this blog AND first fic in a WHILE how are we feeling fam? also this was supposed to be one long fic but uhhh idk man
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
WARNINGS. no smut. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets a minor cut on his neck)
TAGS.
fem!reader, definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, unrealistic swordsmanship cause i know jack shit about it, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, sorta plot twist at the end? it’s explained in the next chapter, also not proofread!! so there might be inconsistencies cause i wrote the ending and then came back to the sword fight scene
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
<- 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Marriage was a political tool, a hoax of a union only meant to unite realms and solidify them, it’s is not for love, not for royalties that rule the kingdoms. You were aware of this, your sister never promised you a fable-like love, she had prepared you for this, to marry for familial gain, and yet it feels so strange.
Probably because you unknowingly surrendered your heart to someone you shouldn’t have.
You still remember the day you met him for the very first time. There was well expected chaos after your sister Rhaenyra ascended your father’s throne as Queen to the realm, so about a week after her coronation, you were called into the council chambers, but it was only your sister and your brother-in-law Daemon.
“Alicent’s family, the Hightowers.” Rhaenyra started, “They need to be kept in check. We have figured out what to do with Otto and Ormund but…Ser Gwayne seems to be causing quite the…problem.” She finished, fingers fidgeting with the orb placed in front of her to signify her attendance to the meetings.
“So, much to my dismay.” Daemon continues, glancing to his wife. “We’d like for you to take him as your sworn shield.” You blinked at them, taking a moment to let the words sink in. You’d heard of the man, he was a Hightower but also a skilled knight, probably the only reason Daemon is agreeing to this. He’s also known to be any honourable man, fiercely loyal and ultimately handsome.
“Very well then. If Your Grace commands it, then it shall be done.” You say the words, poised as ever even with the prospect of an utter stranger being your shield. You watch as your sister calls out for him, the doors swinging open and the ginger man, clad in armour walks in with his head low. He doesn’t look at you, not yet, eyes strained on the queen as he bows his head to her out of respect.
“Ser Gwayne. From this day forth, you are to be my sister’s sworn shield. Swear to her.” He nods to the queen, chin dipping low, causing his auburn waves to swing with the wind. When he finally turns to you, his deep blue eyes bore into yours for the first time.
He kept his eyes connected with yours as he knelt down before you, the metal of his armour clanking is the only sound that fills the room as he hold up his hand, for you to slip yours into. Your hand, previously clutched at your side, now rises to meet his, “My Lady.” Gwayne finally begins, “I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New.”
His voice is mellow, like a soothing balm as his gaze is intense in contrast, exhibiting an emotion you can’t quite place. His thumb runs over your knuckles as he speaks, sending a shiver down your spine, and when he’s done reciting the words, he brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a firm kiss onto his Princess’ hand.
“You are quite skilled, My Lady.”
You startle at the voice, not expecting anyone to be amiss at this hour of the night, swinging around with sword still in hand, read to attack the owner of said voice, only to be met with the most beautiful blue eyes and his hands up defensively. “You had me in quite a panic for a moment, to see you missing from your chambers when I was right outside.” Gwayne says, the tip of your sword hovering just a few inches from his neck.
“I prefer that cover of night to train. Lesser eyes.” You respond, holding your stance, he might be your shield but he’s still a Hightower and you two are quite alone. As a princess of the realm, it’s seen as unladylike to know how to wield a weapon, something you never understood. They give you a dragon and expect you to ride into battles but not a sword in your hand? Laughable.
“I suppose you will not inform me of the way you escaped?” He poses it as a question as he takes a step closer, closer till the blade of your sword actually nicks the side of his neck, the sight of blood making you flinch just a bit. A single droplet trickles down from the wound, to the collar of his tunic, dying the cloth a deep red.
It’s odd to see him in regular clothes when you’re so used to seeing him clad in armour. He must’ve realised you were gone after shift change, but considering that the entire castle wasn’t alive and running around looking for you, he must be the only one who knows.
Your train of thought is cut off when you feel his skin on yours, his hand gently caressing yours, the same hand that’s holding up the sword that could kill him if you wished. “I am not going to harm you, My Lady.” He whispers the words into the night’s air like a promise, which is true, he did swear an oath to you, he did promise so.
It’s been about a month since that day in the council chambers. The day he knelt before you and swore to you. Since then, he’d been your shadow, following you around anywhere you went with his rather calming appearance and charming smiles. At the beginning, small talk was kept to a minimum, you couldn’t trust him in the least, son of a schemer must’ve inherited some of his wits, right? But every kind word, every gentle smile chipped away at your wall slowly, and here you were, letting him in on a secret of yours.
You withdraw your blade, causing your hand to rip away from his in the process. You jerk your chin to a wall at the far end of the training ground, a few swords mounted upon it. “Spar with me, Ser.” You don’t leave space for it to be a question, your tone indicating clearly that it’s an order. “It would be my honour.” You watch as he dips his head in obedience, taking a step back before he walks in the direction you instructed.
You watch him, study him as his back turns to you, the lone teach lighting up the arena isn’t ideal but it suffices. You watch as the muscles of his back ripple with every step, the obvious years of training in his gait. Even in the low light, his auburn hair almost shines, making itself known.
“Who taught you?” He calls out as as he unsheathes one of the swords you directed him towards, you stay silent nonetheless, waiting from to walk back but now with a small smile stretching the tips of his lips like there’s something amusing about this encounter.
You wait till he stands a few paces from you, holding up your own sword ready to attack. “My Lady—” Ser Gwayne begins but you interrupt him by lunging forward, aimed at his chest albeit without great force that could cause grave injury, but his instincts kick in anyway, his sword coming up to slash at yours, pushing you back slightly.
Your skills with a weapon that wasn’t your dragon would never be a match for his of course, if it were, then you wouldn’t need him as a shield, would you?
He simply defends as you aim for his shoulder next, his sword catching yours, but you change your grip on the hilt, taking a step back to avoid hurting him but swinging in a motion that would’ve normally given him a nasty gash on his forearm.“My previous shield was a woman.” You begin, earning wide eyes from Gwayne.
You attack a few more times, the nightly breeze making wide of his hair and yours as you continue your dance. He has sworn to never harm you, so all he does is defend against your moves, a sense of him being proud at you courses through his body, the way you control the blade to not hurt him with moves that usually cause bloodshed. He doesn’t move with total ease, you putting up an actual challenge that he had to answer with his own sword.
“She understood how important it was for a Lady to know how to protect herself if she were to ever fall into inescapable peril.” You finish, using your words as distraction to step a fade, turning your whole body to attack what would’ve been a final blow.
“She taught you very well.” Gwayne agrees as your blade comes juts out, sharp edge yet again resting against the crook of his neck, just about the same place that you’d just nicked a few minutes ago, a pleased smile decorating his face.
The realms first big celebration after your sister’s coronation was the Crown Prince Jacaerys’, your nephew’s name day. The whole week leading to his seventeenth name day was brimming with festivities. Hunts, feats, and of course, a joust.
It was hard to take a step outside your room during this time without bumping into multiple servants or labours running around and carrying things. These times were exhausting even if you were a princess who did nothing to contribute. It was just the atmosphere of the place, like the whole palace was holding its breath, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the pinnacle before going back to normal.
You’d hidden away in the courtyard, alone with your thoughts because your usual conversation partner was away practicing and training for the said joust. When your sworn shield approached you for permission to enter the lists, you begrudgingly agreed. After all, it was not but a place for these men in armour to show off their glamor and power.
Six months with Gwayne has certainly softened you to him, even a princess can’t resist his charming smiles for too long. It’s odd now, when you think back to when you first met him, to the wall you had put up to him that you sometimes wonder if it was a good idea to get so comfortable around him.
It was inevitable, of course, when you had such few companions around you that you get attached easily. Your sister was busy with running the realms, your brother in law/uncle…well Daemon was Daemon, your nieces and nephews were too young, the Ladies from families loyal to yours had to be kept at an arms length anyway.
Sighing, you pluck off another wild flower that grow near the roots of the tree and your back rests against its trunk. On your lap, lounging on the silk of your skirts was your flower bracelet, the one you’d give as a favour to a knight during the joust. What started as an escape to boredom grew to a beautiful decorated bracelet, with ribbons of your house and your mother’s, your favourite flowers intertwining like a braid. You stick the flower you just picked into a spot that felt too empty, finally satisfied with the creation.
In tranquility, it’s hard to stop your thoughts from wandering. Will Ser Gwayne ask for your favour? He must out of obligation but you can’t help but wonder if there’s anything genuine about it? If he truly wants your support. You have the right to refuse, of course, but there’s no knight that you’d rather give it to. It’s tradition, of course, that a sworn shield asks and wears the favour of who they are sworn to, it’s seen as scandalous not to.
There were a few contenders worth speaking about, Ser Cristin Cole, Ser Gwayne and a few up and comers. You never paid much heed to them but overheard a few floating conversations amongst the maids and guards. Only time will tell, you suppose.
You hadn’t seen Ser Gwayne all day.
After having him by your side for most hours of the day in the recent months, his absence was odd to say the least, but given that the joust begins in just a few minutes, he’d been off getting ready.
Your favour, the flower bracelet you would slide onto a knights jousting stick, now sat beside you on the small table up on the royal dias, looking down at the jousting ground with the best view the arena has to offer. Your lone journey through your thoughts is broken when you hear your name being called, turning around, you acknowledge the person calling you.
“Queen Dowager, I hope you are well.” You saw as you watch Alicent Hightower headed in your direction, obviously to take a seat beside you. “And I, you.” She responded as she gives you a smile, a perfectly polite and diplomatic one, which you return.
You were only a year younger than your sister, but you never took to deep friendship with Alicent in childhood like your sister did. You’d always known her to be more of a kind older sister-like figure, that is until your father wed her. You understand the political motivations behind the decision but it still irked you to this day.
“I do hope my dear brother has not caused you any trouble.” You asks as Ser Gwayne trots into the jousting field, the whispers erupting around you, between nobles and commoners alike. Gwayne was well-known for his looks, praised by both Lords and Ladies, you never had how un-exaggerated the gossip was until you actually met him, those blue eyes and auburn waves.
“He’s is pleasant.” You respond to his sister, Alicent still draped in Hightower green. who watches Gwayne opponent, Ser Cristian Cole, Alicent’s own sworn shield prance into the field too, seeming that him and Gwayne were to be opponents. The Queen Dowager simply nods at your response, opting to picking the skin on her fingers than respond back.
It’s finally time, just before their helmets finally go on, the knights come up to ask for the favour of their intended Lady. You subconsciously straighten up your back, soothing a hair strand that had been misbehaving all day as your flower bracelet sat just an arm’s breath away from you.
Gwayne’s armour glistens in the sun, well polished and well crafted, moulded to his body with utter perfection as he rides up to the royal box, his jousting pole in hand. Even from the distance, you can see the healed scar of the wound you gave him a mere month after he was sworn to you, something you’ve felt utterly guilty about, scarring him like that but Gwayne just softly chuckles you off everytime you brought it up since then.
It’s odd though, his usual charismatic smile, persona with a smidge of boyishness and an inkling of confident arrogance was…missing. Replaced by a furrowed brow, lips in a serious grimace, you’d never seen him as such.
When he looks up at the box, he doesn’t look at you. His gaze stays strained on the woman next to you, his sister who doesn’t break his stare. He doesn’t spare you an inkling of attention as he opens his mouth to speak, voice laced with something only resembling rage.
“Queen Dowager, mine own dear sister, I would like to ask for your favour.”
P.S. is it unethical of me to start my got/hotd fanfic writing journey by writing gwayne? because my princess x knight obsession is begging to be let out and who am i to stop it.
sworn shield! Gwayne Hightower x Rhaenyra's sister! Reader
ABOUT.
You’d scoffed at cheesy novels of princesses and their knights falling in love, disregarding it as pure entertainment but nothing could’ve prepared you for experiencing it yourself when Ser Gwayne Hightower swears his life to be your sworn shield.
Now, the night before you’re married off to another, you can’t help but ask him for one last time…
WARNINGS. 17+, no smut but fade to black + intimate kissing scenes. vague descriptions of wounds (gwayne gets minor cuts on his neck and face)
TAGS. (spoilers for the fic below)
hurt/no comfort!! definitely ooc gwayne cause its my first time writing him, NO 'DANCE OF DRAGONS' AU, slowburn lowk because nothing too romantic happens in ch.1, reader knows how to weild a sword, a joust and those flower bracelet favour things, attempted tension between reader and gwayne, minor miscommunication that doesnt get explained much but its for the plot, reader is scared of lighting storms, reader is referred to have a dragon, for this fic—his room is connected to yours so he can protect you (just go with it😭), hugging and cuddling, reader has an arranged marriage that’s not to gwayne, reader moving away from kings landing cause of the marriage, emotional make out sesh with tears basically lmk if i missed something!
NOTES.
so like don’t think too hard about the logistics of it all okay😭 i bullshitted my way through a lot of this idk if it fits canon narrative well (probs doesn’t)
DISCLAIMER. rn im still on s3ep3 but ive seen the spoilers of ormund refering/implying Gwayne to be queer and until he is canonically confirmed to be gay, he is my pretty bi knight <3
CHAPTER ONE
With the new regime comes reassignment of roles, having to keep the Hightowers in check leads to your sister, Rhaenyra to assign the Queen Dowger's brother, Ser Gwayne Hightower as your sworn shield.
Come a few moons after Ser Gwayne becomes your sheild, you can't help but gain some affections for the beautiful knight but now, its your nephew, Jacaerys' nameday joust and here comes something you did not expect.
CHAPTER TWO
coming soon. . .
P.S. first fic on this blog AND first fic in a WHILE how are we feeling fam? also this was supposed to be one long fic but uhhh idk man
I will keep writing my Gwayne fics the way they were intended but I will be sure to include nuances of his attraction to males as well, because bisexual men are just as lovely. 🤍
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─ summary: you're not speaking to them. how long before they break?
─ pairing: Gwayne Hightower, Ormund Hightower, Aegon II Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Valarr Targaryen, Jacaerys Velaryon x f!reader
─ content: 18+ MDNI | fluff | a little angst | implied smut | annoying husbands | hardheaded men
─ a/n: i wanted to add onto the original by doing the other AKOTSK/HOTD men. as always, thank you so much for the likes, comments, reblogs, requests, and asks. 🖤
AEGON — Three Days.
The first day he pretends he is not bothered at all. He drinks, he acts out, he stays up the whole night through, making a great show of being a man who doesn't care. By the second day the show is wearing thin, because the truth is that he cares a lot. All he wants is to be near you, but he is stubborn, and some part of him is convinced that you ought to apologize first. By the third day, he cannot bear it another hour. He comes to your room pouting like a scolded child, saying he is sorry, begging you to speak to him again. "I cannot continue!" Dramatic to the very last. You give in, partly because you did miss him, and partly because you would rather not have the whole keep hearing him carrying on like this.
AEMOND — Two Days.
More than anything, Aemond is desperate for love; the love you give him so freely, that no one else ever has. He knows he was wrong. He knows you are right not to speak to him. But he will not say so, because his pride is a vast and immovable thing. He lies in his own bed that second night, cold and alone and sleepless, and decides at last that his pride is not worth this. He rises, sneaks into your chambers and climbs silently into your bed, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "May I stay?" he asks. He cannot make himself say the words I was wrong, that is not his way, but the look in his eye, and the tears standing in it, say it loudly enough. You nod.
DAERON — Forever, Potentially.
He does not remember the fight, or you telling him to sleep elsewhere. He simply wakes to find you not speaking to him, and being who he is, assumes your love for him has finally run dry, that you no longer have it in you to endure him, and he is crushed by it. But he understands. Someone like you deserves a far better husband than the likes of him. So he resolves to disappear, to stop being a burden, to never trouble you again. It goes on like this for almost a week while you slowly lose your mind, because what in the actual hell is happening?! You confront him at last. He is stunned, he remembers none of it, but more than that, the revelation that you still love him undoes him completely. He pulls you into his arms and kisses you hard. The kind of kiss where his arms are around your waist pulling you impossibly close and your hands are curled in the front of his doublet. You're left so breathless you don't even remember why you were upset. He apologizes, swears he will change, he does not want to live in a world in which you have stopped loving him.
GWAYNE — An Hour.
The sweetest, most devoted husband, completely undone by the barest hint of your displeasure. If you are upset and not speaking to him, he lasts an hour at the very most before he comes to you with a little gift and a very big apology. He is so sorry for being so careless, he will never do such a thing again, never ever, he swears it. And he is so handsome and so sincere as he says it that staying angry is simply not an option available to you. You step into his arms and let him hold you and kiss you.
JACAERYS — Less Than an Hour.
The stress he carries makes him irritable sometimes, careless, a symptom of his youth as much as anything, and he says something snippy when you were only trying to help. He does not even let you leave the room. The words are barely out of his mouth before he regrets them and is apologizing. You try to walk past him and he stops you gently, both hands on your shoulders, his eyes piercing straight through you. He is putting an end to this before it can go anywhere at all. He repeats his apology, his hands sliding from your shoulders down to hold both of yours. You nod, but you need a moment, and he gives it to you. Your silence is the only thing he can think of, occupying him entirely until, an hour later, you come and find him, and climb into his lap, and let him hold you. He will never speak to you that way again.
ORMUND — A Day.
He is a pain in your ass, and he wants to break you. "Hmm. Not speaking to me now?" he says with that infuriating smile the moment he realizes what you are doing. He crowds your space all day, and he is, frankly, impressed by the sheer iron of your resolve. If only all his soldiers possessed your discipline. "How long do you imagine this can continue? You must speak to me sooner or later." After a full day of it, you do indeed snap. "Seven hells, do you ever stop talking?!" You storm out of the room, slamming the door behind you. He will not tolerate that in his house; he follows you, his fury matching your own, as he pulls you into the bedchamber. What follows is a fight indeed, a battle for dominance, each of you determined to have the upper hand. You win.
VALARR — Until Supper.
You and Valarr are in the middle of a thunderous fight, the first of your marriage. You and he on opposite sides of the room, nothing but tension and frigid air between you, when you decide to stop speaking to him altogether. He wants to fix this, but he also does not think hashing it out in the heat of the moment is particularly productive,not while you are both still upset. He lets you be silent, but you do not get to be angry at him all day. He comes to dress for supper and makes it clear he means to talk about it now, and he apologizes thoroughly for his part in it. It is difficult to maintain anger against someone so clearheaded. You apologize, forgive him, and ask him to help you with your dress. He decides to skip supper in favor of eating something else entirely.
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